


Sparks

by lemoninagin



Category: South Park
Genre: Blasphemy, Established Relationship, Hell can be surprisingly romantic, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Satan knits ugly sweatervests btw, an excessive amount of fire, and sometimes that form is in the shape of fucking the son of satan ok, casual damned soul collection, redemption comes in many forms, sassy Pip, the usual things that usually happen in Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7295770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not Damien's fault for once that Pip's got a stick up his ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Society's Cavity](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Society%27s+Cavity).



> Dedicated to Society's Cavity, because I live for their stories <3 (especially Even In Dreams, as you well know haha)
> 
>  
> 
> i'm not sure you're on a03, but hopefully you will see this and hopefully you will enjoy it :)

Pip watches the flames as they lick towards the center of the field, igniting fast on the dry, deadened branches of shrubs lining the Forest of the Damned. He sighs for what feels like the millionth time that day, raising the glass cylinder in his hand automatically when screams fill the air and tiny, glowing orbs fly out towards him. When he successfully traps them all within the glass box, he slams the lid down forcefully, sighing again.

 

“Pip,” growls a voice as another explosion of fire bursts beautiful sparks of blue, red, and orange off to his right, “Fucking knock it off already.”

 

“Oh, I wasn’t aware I was doing anything,” Pip replies airily, shaking the cylinder and smiling softly as echoey screams resound from it, observing the orbs change color as they fall into each other inside. His accent is thicker and more pompous than usual, exactly as he knows Damien hates it.

 

He shakes his head, long blonde strands grazing the tops of his shoulder when he cocks it to peer back at Damien as innocently as he can manage. Damien glares, his look level, and without moving his gaze hot on Pip, he snaps his fingers and a nearby tree splinters into a million pieces. The coup de grâce is that, as usual, it spontaneously combusts right after. Pip continues to smile unnervingly as ash, bark, and bits of dirt rain down upon his head.

 

“Well, that hardly seemed necessary. I thought we were just collecting near the river? Now you’re simply being superfluous.”

 

Pip ducks out of the way of a fireball thrown towards him, giggling as he clicks a button on the cylinder that compacts it into a small ball itself. He pockets it as he skips towards the tree - or what  _ had _ been a tree, and what was now only just a giant, smoking crater - brandishing another cylinder that whirs to life and expands as he pulls it from his other pocket. After collecting some pitch black orbs, he straightens out his sweater vest (a gift from Satan, and he looks stupider in it than usual), smooths the wrinkles and brushes dirt from his clothes as Damien seethes at him. Damien’s starting to smoke and emanate a soft, red glow himself, and Pip stifles some more chuckles.

 

“What the fuck is your problem, huh? You wanna end back up in intake, you little shit?”

 

Pip scoffs at him, shrugs as he tosses the cylinder into the air and catches it idly while putting his other hand on his hip.

 

“You wouldn’t do such a thing, so I’m not particularly worried. And honestly, what’s even the point? You can’t actually get rid of me.”

 

Damien lifts a finger with a tiny flame dancing off it, eyes narrowing in challenge, his mouth opened but unable to find proper words to deal with Pip when he’s acting like this. His father had just  _ had _ to pair them up for soul collection today, had just  _ had _ to act like it was some lovely, ingenious idea for a date. It’s not his fault his father’s an idiot, nor his fault that the landscape of hell is anything but romantic and terrible for setting the mood. Well, Pip’s mood at least, he’s not struggling with it at all.

But it shouldn’t matter whether he grew up here or whether he was like Pip, who’d only spent a few years there. The idiot needs to get over it regardless. If Pip wants something dumb - like long walks on gorgeous beaches with a gentle breeze blowing and pretty melodies filtering through the air while sipping some mimosas - he’s just going to have to deal with settling for doing so on the shores of the river styx and it’s blood-colored water with screams as their background music instead.

 

“You think you’re real cute, don’t you?” Damien snarls, drawing close enough to bump their foreheads together harshly, jabbing a finger into his chest. For some added effect, he lets enough heat fill his fingertips until it pulls a pained, startled noise from Pip. 

 

Still, Pip’s grin doesn’t waver at all, and he even has the gall to roll his eyes. Damien thinks he may have liked Pip better when he first got there and acted like a prissy, meek, naive dork - even as obnoxious as that was.

 

“I do,” Pip bares his teeth as his smile grows wider, letting the box fall from his hands so he can settle them firmly on Damien’s hips to pull him closer, “And you know what? I think you might, too.”

 

“God dammit, don’t fucking pull this bullshit with me now.” 

 

Damien shakes out of his grasp, trying to control the urge to turn Pip into a firework again. It’s not that he wouldn’t enjoy doing so, but Pip does have a point. He hates the shitty low level demons that work in Intake and Admissions, and would do anything to avoid them at all costs. Also, it’s way too much paperwork and time, and as much as Pip annoys him he admittedly would miss being away from him for that long.

 

“Just get your shit, and let’s go. Dad can deal with the rest, I guess. I don’t know why the fuck he’s making us do this grunt work when there’s perfectly good succubus’ loitering around. Tch.”

 

With that, Damien huffs, striding back upstream, ignoring the wailing pleads of some misshapen being crawling across the shore. He can hear Pip scuffle about as he puts the cylinder away, can hear the jangling of the objects in his pockets as his short legs work hard to catch up to him.

 

“What? You don’t think I’m cute?” Pip calls after him, tone still ingratiatingly sarcastic. Damien ignores him, stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep them from doing things he might regret later.

 

“Yeah, but you won’t be so cute after I put fourth degree burns all over your stupid face.”

 

“You could do that, sure,” Pip muses, falling into step beside him, hooking his arm around his to link them together, “But I bet you’d still kiss me - crusty, scabby, blistering lips and all.”

 

“You’re disgusting.”

 

“Right, I know you love it though.”

 

Damien snorts, glancing over at him. He does love it, but that’s beside the point. That shit eating grin is still sitting there on his face, though Pip’s eyes have a dangerous anger flashing behind them. It’s really not cute at all.

 

“Hardly.”

 

Pip sighs, flipping his hair back haughtily as he prys Damien’s hand from his pocket and fixes their palms together. He decides to steer the conversation away, closer into the direction that was initially bothering him.

 

“A very typical response from a very typical, uncaring boyfriend.”

 

Damien wants to bite back, anything to get Pip to fuck off and quit being so cocky. He isn’t equipped to deal with such moodiness, his quick fix with people when they’re acting like that being to kill them, torture them. He can’t eradicate someone who’s already dead, and he can’t escape them unless he wants to vacation on Earth - something his father rarely lets him do these days.

 

Torture is pointless, too. The weirdo definitely isn’t deterred by it.

 

Mulling over these thoughts, Damien settles on one day killing God instead like he’s always planned - it’s his fault for not sending Pip back down to Earth all those years ago.

 

He squeezes Pip’s hand, stopping abruptly. Pip falls back at the jarring motion, and Damien conjures some wind to keep him upright. Their eyes meet, but Pip turns his head, gaze fixed on the black and red swirling sky churning angrily above them.

 

“Look. This wasn’t my idea, okay? I know you wanted to go out to the town today, but there was work to be done and this takes precedence.”

 

Pip hums, biting his lip. He digs sharp fingernails into Damien’s palm, rocks back and forth on his heels stiffly.

 

“Whatever.”

 

Down to one word answers, well that can’t be good. At least when Pip’s being antagonistic they can reasonably keep an argument going. Without any fuel to work with, Damien is unsure where to lead this. He keeps talking, trying to reason to Pip that he’s being fucking childish - though in the back of his mind he gets the feeling like he’s mostly reassuring himself.

 

“If it’s such a big fucking issue, I’ll tell my dad to assign you elsewhere next time. Now just...shut the fuck up, will you?”

 

Pip totters back from his heels and crosses his arms. He’s still not making eye contact, not letting out a single noise anymore.

 

They resume walking silently, neither daring to say another word. Knowing Pip, Damien gets the feeling that this silent treatment could go on for days. The tension is thick, and Damien takes over as the one passively sighing, hunching his shoulders. The clanging of the cylinders containing the souls is the only sound for a long time, the ringing a reminder of how fucking dumb his father is for forcing them into this. Despite how Pip’s skin has thickened over the years, he’s still surprisingly sensitive, and a job like this is definitely pushing on a particularly sore nerve.

 

When they come upon a bench made of skulls at the edge of woods where the winding road begins to loop into town, Damien grabs Pip, leading him over and coaxing him to sit. Pip doesn’t even protest, only slumps down, looking off into the distance with his hands laced together primly over his lap.

 

After a moment of sitting, staring, Pip inches his hand back over to Damien’s, traipsing tiny caresses over his knuckles. Damien shifts awkwardly. No matter how many times they do this, he thinks he may never get used to Pip’s soft touches. Before Pip, he’d only known pain and suffering with contact. It’s really not an easy adjustment to make by any means.

 

“Tell me what’s really wrong,” Damien demands, trying to keep his voice from rising in frustration.

 

Quietly, Pip speaks, so low Damien has to strain to hear, “I just want to spend some peaceful, solitary time with you. That’s all.”

 

“Dammit Pip,” Damien mutters, leaning more against him, “You already are, you idiot. I’m sorry this isn’t your ideal situation, but it’s not like we have to do this all day. This isn’t forever.”

 

“It  _ feels _ like an eternity,” Pip spits bitterly, then corrects himself, “It  _ is _ an eternity. Time is irrelevant here.”

 

Damien groans, pulling his hand away from Pip’s ministrations so he can thread careful fingers through his silky long hair. The deeper issue lays itself out, a festering wound with a scab Pip can’t seem to ever stop picking apart. He has a feeling he knows where this damn conversation is going.

 

“Look around you,” Damien gestures to some disfigured people across the river tied up to trees, writhing in pain, points to skeletal creatures struggling in the tar-like water, “You’re not like them. You’re lucky in here, you know. Chosen by me, chosen to be exempt from this.”

 

“Well maybe I  _ shouldn’t  _ be exempt from this,” Pip lowers his head, staring at his feet which he can’t seem to stop shuffling, “Maybe I…Maybe I  _ should _ be left to rot.”

 

Before Damien can answer, his head swirling in confusion at why Pip is bringing such things up again, Pip is pulling one of the cylinders from his pocket, is clicking the button to expand it, which more than speaks for itself. The souls inside quiver and bounce about, haunting groaning heard even through the thick glass surrounding them. He’s staring at the orbs with large, searching eyes, brow furrowed as he follows their path while they float and knock into each other aimlessly.

 

“Maybe I deserve to be like them, to be trapped.”

 

“Pip, c’mon...d-don’t...don’t say unreasonable things. We’ve been over this before. It ain’t like that...”

 

“Tell me, Dami. Do you think they can still feel things? Do they still have memories, have hopes and dreams? Do you think they hurt, that they can experience emotion the same way as they did before they were reduced to this?”

 

Damien kneads his scalp, brushing back his bangs and clearing away chunks of bark and dirt from it. Pip’s eyes are glassy, his lip quivering. He presses a kiss to his forehead, curls an arm around his back and pulls him close. Pip lets the cylinder slip from his hands, where it clatters dully onto the ground. Of course, none of these silly thoughts Pip has has ever crossed his mind before.

 

“I...honestly don’t know. But I’ll put it this way - they weren’t innocent by any means. Forest of the Damned only accepts the darkest of the souls, you know that already. Everyone has to face the consequences of their crimes sooner or later.”

 

And then Damien is kissing those pouty lips, pressing as gently as he can, an admirable show of restraint when all he wants to do is tear into the boy, to do horrible things to him. It’s actually a feat he thinks he should honestly be rewarded for, all things considered. When he pulls away, Pip seems startled, but at least that strange, faraway look in his eyes is gone.

 

“Pip, you aren’t and  _ weren’t _ guilty of any crimes. Well, besides being a fucking dumbass.”

 

Finally, Pip relaxes somewhat in his grasp and blows out a small puff of air, giggling as he leans into Damien’s touch.

 

“I’m fucking the son of Satan. That’s hardly redeemable by any means.”

 

The two look at each other, Damien slightly taken aback by the crude and blunt way Pip is speaking. Pip’s got a faint blush lining his cheeks, and Damien resists the urge to ravish him right there, hand tightening in his hair. After a second, they both collapse into laughter - full belly laughter, doubling over and guffawing so loudly they disrupt a few first class demons who are walking past them, causing them to slip and get stuck in the viscous water.

 

“Honestly though! Are there enough hail mary’s in the world to put away that sin, to be forgiven? I should think not,” Pip blurts between chuckles, not serious in the least anymore. Heaven’s a boring place after all, and he isn’t particularly impressed by that hack Jesus.

 

Even if they were to accept him, there’s nothing to gain from  _ that _ afterlife, certainly nothing they could offer that even comes close to what he’s getting from Damien.

 

“Fucking, I can’t...haha, what the fuck...I can’t even argue with that one, damn,” Damien moves to grip Pip by the shoulder, lowering his voice to a sultry whisper near his ear as he tucks strands of hair behind it, “You sayin’ I’m corrupting your soul?”

 

Pip flushes pinker, nuzzling into Damien’s hold on his hair, which he’s continued and is tugging on less carefully than before. Pip’s eyes are heavily lidded, lashes fluttering wildly when Damien darts out his forked tongue to lick the shell of his ear.

 

“M-maybe. I mean, you are infiltrating my insides quite a bit.”

 

Pip tips his chin up, and Damien trails his fingers down to cup it, sucking a wet path across his bared neck. One of Pip’s hands crawls over to rest on his thigh, rubbing slow circles on it.

 

“You are too fucking much sometimes, you know that?”

 

“Perhaps, but apparently not enough for you to have a problem with it in the bedroom.”

 

Damien shoves him playfully, considering giving the suffering souls a nice show right on the bench when Pip falls onto his back, until a loud screeching gong rings out the time in a fashion similar to nails on a chalkboard. He curses - they’re going to be late if they don’t hurry, and as much as he likes pissing off his father, he isn’t too keen on the man vindictively cockblocking them later like he’s done in the past. Pip appears to have similar thoughts, jumping up and gathering the cylinder, pulling Damien quickly back towards the trail with him.

 

“What does Mr. Lucifer even need with these, anyway? Like what does he use them for, dare I ask?”

 

“Oh. Usually to power his microwave, or some shit like that. Damned souls are a great source of energy.”

 

Pip makes a strangled noise, shaking his head in defeated amusement.

 

“Ah. I should have known.”

 

As they walk, Damien blows up several trees and demons to burn off the angry ache he’s feeling in the pits of his stomach, at not being able to do the things he’d like to whenever he’d like to. His reign of power can’t come soon enough. 

 

Pip is pulling at the collar of his shirt, using it as a poor attempt to fan himself as they are sandwiched in between endless amounts of scorching wildfire. Damien wonders how he isn’t used to it by now.

 

“Hey, by the way…” Damien says after a moment, lazily bouncing a small fireball back and forth between his palms, “You wanna be punished so bad, I’ll do it later when we’re alone - just how you prefer it, you little freak.”

 

Pip smiles, this time a genuine one. He grabs at Damien’s hand to link their fingers together, ignoring the pain from the mild burn he’ll most likely develop later, the familiar stench of sulfuric acid and blood overwhelmingly strong as they draw closer to town.

 

“I think I’d like that very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit, I wrote for another fandom. I haven't written for this couple in over a decade, but I tried my best! Please excuse the lame title and summary...


End file.
